Flashes
by SixthSeason
Summary: The pain the ritual brought was enough to wipe his memory clean; eliminating nearly every bit of his past from his mind. Even with the bitter memories these flashes bring, Fenris is still dead-set on remembering. Hawke, however, "helps" Fenris in an entirely different way. (Post "A Bitter Pill" Quest. Fenris's POV. Hawke's gender ambiguous.)


Flashbacks be damned.

But he'd wanted them, hadn't he? With them, he'd be able to get answers. About him. About his life before he'd stopped being a sentient being and was branded as a piece of property to some bastard of a slaver.

What he wouldn't give to be able to grasp that brief flash and wring it out until he found what he was looking for.

Even then, the flash was in fragments.

All this heated talk about Hadriana is what triggers it. At least, he believes so. When he speaks of that dastardly woman's cruelty towards him, it's almost as if he's there again, reliving it in short, but oh-so-horrible flashes. But it's not what he wants to remember. Before that. _Before that!_

And just like that, it's gone. As soon as the flash fades, he's back in the mansion. Hawke's mansion. Perhaps speaking more about the issue would bring back a few—-no. He's already dogged Hawke enough with this bitter pill of his. Whatever he'd come in here to tell Hawke in the first place was near forgotten, the growing haze in his mind making it difficult to think.

Now, he's furious. At the bitterness. At his weakness. At himself. At Hadriana. At Danarius. Every one of them plaguing his mind to the point where he couldn't even think straight. That sick, hot, twisted feeling in his gut looms again. Through it all, he can only mutter a halfhearted apology to Hawke before turning away.

And then he is touched. Fingers grasping his bicep to prevent him from advancing further.

Another flash. And in that flashback, the touch is highly unwelcome; for it belongs to both Hadriana and Danarius.

Blinded by the flashback, Fenris pivots on his heel to snatch the hand off his own arm and grasp the offending arms to subdue them. His breathing is labored, but nigh silent, the sound of his breath hissing through his teeth quieter than a whisper. Armored fingers tighten around much softer material, a thin layer between the sharpness of his armor and the skin beneath the other material.

Had it not been for the luminescence of his lyrium brandings brightening the dim room, he'd might have dug those sharp points his fingers were encased in right into flesh.

What anger he had was now replaced with embarrassment and shame as Hawke's indiscernible gaze bores into his own. It's not long before he releases his own hands and averts his gaze. At least the haze in his mind is now gone; now replaced with his own voice reprimanding himself without abandon. Had it not been for the feeling of Hawke's gaze on him, he'd have turned and left moments ago. He'd pegged his friend enough tonight. He'd overstayed his welcome.

Again, he is grasped—-but this time he allows it, for he knows to whom the touch belongs to—-and is pulled into an embrace, followed by the press of lips against his own. For the first time since he'd entered the mansion—his mind goes blank. It's strange….but…welcome.

The markings. They begin to ache. As does his head as it hits the wall when Hawke tosses him against it, pressing into him. Another ache begins to appear, but that one doesn't hurt as the others do. But he's barely focusing on those dull pains. What really has his attention is his blank mind.

Not completely blank, 's…something in his mind. Almost a numbness. A peaceful one. A welcome one. No racing of the mind, and whatever flashbacks that lingered subsided to the point that they nearly ceased. They remained. But barely.

It was strange. Unfamiliar. Perhaps even a little frightening. But overall, it was...welcome.

Perhaps it was an act of desperation, or an act of gratitude when he pulls Hawke up against him, drawing his lips against theirs and following them to Hawke's bedchambers. Be it desperation to keep the flashbacks at bay, or gratitude for temporarily keeping them at bay was unknown to him. But as Hawke peels off his armor and leads him over to the bed, one thought forms in his mind through the growing haze of desire for Hawke building in his mind:

He could get used to this.


End file.
